


You Don't Fool Me

by amclove



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: John Deacon - Freeform, M/M, Oneshot, Roger Taylor - Freeform, daylor - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-29 00:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18297140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amclove/pseuds/amclove
Summary: Suffice it to say, John deserves better.





	You Don't Fool Me

    John stares at the ceiling. He hates the way the paint was sponged to stick up in particular swirls. He can’t understand why adults who can actually afford to buy houses choose to riddle their ceilings with hideous, pointy paint jobs. Why isn’t a smooth white enough? Why the sponging?

    His hands flit around himself in stubborn refusal to find a comfortable position for more than five seconds. He can’t lay still. He glances to the right toward his night-table where his phone rests, mocking him with its blue striped case and complete lack of incoming messages.

    It’s 12:04 and three hours ago, he had tried to give Roger a call. No answer. Cut to twenty minutes ago, and he receives a text that reads, _hey just got back from a tinder date lol_

    Personally, John doesn’t know what the ‘lol’ could possibly mean in this context. John certainly isn’t the one laughing, unless you count the chortle of complete disbelief he released a few minutes after this had occurred.

    And to make matters worse, he’d replied with, _Oh. How’d it go_ as if his heart hadn't stopped in his chest at reading that text and as if he really wants to know how good of a shag Roger had on a Saturday night on the town. As if John hadn’t spent the night prior at Roger’s watching movies and feeling so safe against the blond’s chest that he never wanted to move from his place on Roger’s mattress, unable to believe that after so long wishing to be in this exact spot, he now actually _was_.

    John isn’t one to have fucking slumber parties with just _anyone_ , okay? He’s never even had sex, so just the fact that he slept pressed to Roger’s side, almost unable to sleep at all because of nerves, the fact that he’d woken up before Roger for a quick face and mouth rinse, only to now find that Roger had gone out with a random man or woman… It really didn’t leave John’s stomach in the best of conditions.

    Not to mention that it reduced the sweet things exchanged between the pair nearly to null and void because John had unfortunately and incorrectly assumed that Roger had said those sweet things to John out of a feeling of loyalty from somewhere deep within, and that for once Roger wouldn’t be the slut he always acted as because somehow, he’d fallen for John fucking Deacon and that _meant_ something. Eleven p.m. phone chats and messages that spoke of everything, everything, everything; sharing looks over the table when Freddie made a comment that had them both hilariously floored; the feeling of wanting so badly to close that space between himself and Roger on that bed and kiss him in the dark where the only witness could have been the laptop’s glowing screen.

    But he hadn’t, and now Roger had gone out with someone else. All to say, _it went ok. not really looking for a relationship tho_ and somehow break John’s heart even more. What did they have, then, if not a relationship? The texts about how soft John’s hair is, or the look of gentle pride on Roger’s face when he sees John actually eating a full meal and keeping a bit of weight on, rather than being skin and bones; what does he call John’s back settled against his stomach and carefully holding the hand that Roger drapes over his waist?

    And it was all a fucking lie, John sees now, in his empty bedroom where he stares at this stupid fucking ceiling, his head and heart pounding. Ironic to think that earlier that night he’d seriously thought to himself how he’d sleep next to Roger every night if he could. John isn’t a big fan of most people and cherishes his time alone, but with Roger, he knew he could have spent 24 full hours with him and possibly only then been satisfied.

    Maybe it’s his fault for not being explicit. He could’ve asked at any time what their status was, but he hadn’t thought to. Why would he, when those sweet conversations had made John feel so incredibly special and valued? He hadn’t a _need_ to ask because it had seemed so black and white. How irrevocably incorrect John had been.

    Maybe if he had just kissed Roger, the fucking incubus, or more, then he wouldn’t have felt the need to go out on a ‘Tinder date.’ But John shakes his head at the idea, hair shifting on his pillow. He couldn’t change his need to take things slowly just to satisfy Roger. When he’d mentioned it, Roger hadn’t so much as batted an eye. He even said that he had two perfectly working hands of his own and would never pressure John to do anything until he wanted to, if ever he wanted to. Another fucking lie, it turned out.

    John blinks, wishing he was a crier if only to get these feelings out and dealt with rather than having to remain awake into the early morning. Roger can have fun on his dull, meaningless dates and with his cold, meaningless sex. John rolls onto his side with his fists clenched under his head and eyebrows furrowed. The muscles in his face are sore from the hour of scowling. He tries to relax them. He breathes out.

    Yes. Roger can have those dates and that sex. He can get shagged all the way to the moon, for all John gives a damn. For now, he’ll stop wishing that he was back in Roger’s bed and pressed to Roger’s chest. Wishing won’t get him anywhere. That much has been made clear.

    

**Author's Note:**

> this is actually my night thus far lol i wrote this because im fucking tired and upset and needed to get it out so forgive me. i just relate to john on a spiritual level and his voice reminds me the most of my own. thanks guys


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